


Childhood

by CalicoPudding



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Backstory, Blood, Crying, Injury, Pain, Pre-Canon, Teeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 12:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14473257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicoPudding/pseuds/CalicoPudding
Summary: This will pay off. It has to because that pain was just shy of unbearable. Hopefully, moving forward, it will be easier to deal with. Removing a little shouldn’t be as painful as removing an entire tusk. He can manage.





	Childhood

**Author's Note:**

> A stress piece because I'm half way done with my finals and I love Fjord "Nothing to See Here, Just a Neutral Good Cowboy" Tough

Fjord finds himself on his own, hands clenched and resting on his knees. For the past ten minutes he’s done nothing but run his tongue over his teeth and think. He can’t do much about the teasing, the torment really, but removing the object of attention is possible.

It’s going to hurt.

But it will be worth it.

Right?

One of his hands uncurls and he brings it to his mouth, running slightly pointed nails over the protruding tusks. He’s the only one around who has them, the only child with such a feature. If he removes them, the only thing setting him apart will be his green skin and there’s nothing he can do about that. Besides, around here there are all sorts of colors, his green isn’t out of place.

His tusks are, however.

It’s a few more days before he gathers his resolve. He charms one of the older women into letting him borrow a small mirror, and that night he makes his way to his hideaway. It’s secluded, and he’s been careful enough that none of the other children know about it.

By candlelight, he lays out the scant few items he figured he’d need. Two rags, one for the blood and saliva that will no doubt pour from his mouth like a river and another to staunch the blood afterward, a small blade no bigger than his pinkie finger, and a half empty bottle of whiskey he’d stolen from the bar. He knows through his observations that alcohol has numbing effects, it’s still going to hurt, but maybe it won’t be so bad.

He’s already taken a few small drinks, trying to be mindful because this will all be for naught if his hands are too shaky to do their job.

The warmth spreads through his body as he downs one last drink, and he takes a breath to calm himself. He slips off his shirt, taking the time to fold it in order to focus himself further, then he picks up the blade.

The candles give him just enough light so see himself in the mirror and he avoids his own eyes, fixing his sight on his mouth.

It hurts more than he expects it to. He can feel the metal bite into the tusks but the blade isn’t incredibly sharp, and his tusks are fairly tough, so he has to chip away bit by bit. He’s crying, he can feel the tears streaming down his face but he keeps going, nearly choking as the blood and saliva slides down his throat instead of past his lips. 

It’s clumsy, he’s never really used a blade of any kind before. While it’s not sharp enough to slice through his tusks with ease, it has no problem filling the inside of his mouth with tiny cuts.

One tusk gone. 

He moves quickly before he loses his resolve, coughing once and spewing crimson into the rag. 

His hand slips and the knife bites deep into his lip. He just spits out more blood and keeps going.

By the time he’s done, the rag is soaked with blood, and his chest is slick with a mixture of blood and saliva. Small bits of his tusk litter the ground around him, covered in red. He can’t feel his mouth anymore, though the deep seated pain is still present, and he drops the blade, uncaring as it smears blood on his pants before it hits the ground. He takes a good few minutes just coughing and spitting. He takes another drink of the whiskey, forcing himself to keep his mouth shut as the open wounds catch fire.

He’s still crying as he takes the untouched rag and balls it up. He shoves in his mouth and bites down carefully on it, feeling it immediately soak up the blood.

He doesn't bother trying to stop the tears, just tilts his head forward so he doesn't end up swallowing anymore blood.

This will pay off. It has to because that pain was just shy of unbearable. Hopefully, moving forward, it will be easier to deal with. Removing a little shouldn’t be as painful as removing an entire tusk. He can manage.

Eventually, the bleeding slows to a manageable level and he removes the rag. The pain is still present though, and he debates another swig of whiskey but he doesn’t want to feel the burning again. Besides, his vision is already starting to get a little blurred.

He rocks up onto his knees and does his best to get rid of the blood coating his skin. He wrings out the bloody rag and manages to clean up his chest. It does little more than smear the blood around but it’s enough that it dries to his skin and doesn’t seep into his shirt when he puts it back on. He wipes the blade off in the grass and drops it into his pack, the whiskey bottle following suit. His hands are absolutely a mess so he’s as careful as possible handling the mirror. 

He extinguishes the candles with his fingers and sits in the darkness for a moment before picking himself up.

As he walks, he can’t keep himself from poking around his mouth. Even with the pain, it feels strange. The way his tongue sits in his mouth now, the way his teeth are set, the way his lips fall shut, it feels alien. He presses his pinkie finger into the recent open spaces, feeling only bloodied and cut up gums. He does manage, however, to keep himself from dipping his nail into the holes. When he removes his finger, he tries moving his jaw, wincing as he does so. The feeling doesn’t go away but it’s a small price to pay for his tusks being gone.

He spits blood all the way and, after a while, it stops. There’s a nausea beginning to swirl to life inside him and he doesn’t even want to entertain the thought of how vomit would feel in his cut up mouth. He pushes it down but figures out after a few more minutes of walking that it keeps getting worse as he moves.

Sleeping outside is nothing he’s not done before, he doesn’t mind it. Hopefully, in sleep, he won’t feel the stinging ache radiating from  his mouth.

He hauls himself into a tree, limbs leadened and vision growing worse by the second. After a bit of a struggle, he manages to settle himself among the branches. He uses the straps of his back to tie himself to branch and does his best to relax.

Come morning, this will all have been worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to try my hand at Fjord's "I do my own dental work", plus what little of his backstory he gave during the last episode.


End file.
